


Shomakhel (Guard of All Guards)

by Elsajeni



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arguing, Community: hobbit_kink, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:45:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin stares at him, incredulous. "And you would push your most trusted guard off to the treasury? Do you value your gold above your life?"</p>
<p>"<em>No</em>," Thorin says at once, his shoulders stiffening as if to conceal a shudder. "No. That was... that madness has passed from me."</p>
<p>"Why, then?" Dwalin demands. "If you want me at your side—"</p>
<p>"I won't risk you," Thorin cuts him off, and then looks slightly horrified, as if he hadn't quite meant to say it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shomakhel (Guard of All Guards)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8478.html?thread=19005982#t19005982) on hobbit_kink:
>
>> Thorin doesn't want Dwalin to be his bodyguard. It's not that he doesn't trust him; it's just that, now that he's King of Erebor, there're bound to be more assassination attempts than there were in Ered Luin and he doesn't want to risk Dwalin getting hurt. Thorin explains all of this to Dwalin. Dwalin listens, and then refuses to accept any other position than bodyguard. Even when Thorin orders him as his King to step down, Dwalin insists that no one else can be trusted.

Dwalin is the last in the line of dwarves to receive their honors; he kneels along with the rest of them, bows his head, and waits as the rest of the Company is named off one by one, each granted some title or position or other honor; as they bow, and rise, and take their places further down the steps.

At last he is the only one left kneeling on the dais, and Thorin takes another step forward, stops in front of him. "My loyal friend," he says, his voice echoing off the walls of the throne room, "and my most treasured companion—" and there is, to Dwalin's embarrassment, a cheer from the gallery; he wonders what the point is of avoiding the word _lover_ , given that everyone in the crowd clearly (and accurately) understands _treasured companion_ to mean the same.

He doesn't look up, though — only waits, and after a moment the crowd settles and Thorin continues, "I thought to offer you leisure, to name you consort and give you no duties other than to sit at my right hand. But I know you better than that — such a life would not suit you. Therefore, in addition to the title of consort, I offer you this honor: you shall captain my _shumûkh-ghivashîn_ , and protect that which we have at last reclaimed."

According to centuries of tradition, what is _supposed_ to happen at this point is fairly straightforward: Dwalin will bow deeper for a moment, then rise and humbly thank his king for the honor he has been given, and then he will step to the side, eyes still downcast, and rejoin the rest of the Company where they have lined up on the steps.

What _actually_ happens is that he jerks upright as if stung, and glares at Thorin, and snaps, " _What_?"

"You will guard my treasury," Thorin repeats; his tone is calm, as if he's certain he was simply misheard, but when Dwalin meets his eyes they are stern as steel.

_This is not the place or the time,_ he tells himself firmly, and drops his eyes again, makes his bow and says, "You honor me, my king," and steps down to take his place alongside the others.

Alongside his brother, specifically, which is unfortunate; Balin keeps his eyes steadily forward, as if watching the crowd, but there's no ignoring his sharp whisper of, "And what do you call that?"

"An insult phrased as an honor," Dwalin growls back, deliberately misunderstanding, and gets a sharp kick to the shin for his trouble.

"I am _certain_ you will apologize later," Balin hisses; Dwalin rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue.

* * *

He does, in fact, seek Thorin out after the ceremony — finds him in his chambers, surrounded by the ambassadors of Dale and accompanied by a single guard, a very young dwarf wearing the livery of Dain Ironfoot's household. Dwalin suppresses a growl at the sight — _any of these men might put a knife in his back, and only a beardless boy here to stop them_ — and forces himself instead to bow politely and say, "My king, I would speak with you in private."

"Of course," Thorin says with a smile, and takes a moment to see the ambassadors out, leaving Dwalin alone in the inner chambers.

When he comes back, a few moments later, the guard — the _boy_ — is still tagging along behind him. Dwalin glares at him, looks back to Thorin, and repeats, "In _private_."

Thorin nods. "Leave us, Vitr," he commands, and waits for the door to shut behind the boy before he turns to Dwalin with a sigh and says, "I warn you, he'll probably come charging back in if you start shouting."

"Then you'd best see sense before I _have_ to start shouting," Dwalin snaps, hands curling into fists at his sides. "This is who you choose as your guard? You would relegate me to the treasury, and let this — this _child_ take my place beside you?"

"I'm told Dain considers him the best and most loyal of his household guard," Thorin says mildly.

Dwalin grits his teeth. " _Marvelous_ ," he spits. "Your guard is faultlessly loyal to Dain Ironfoot, who of course would gain _nothing_ if you came to any harm."

That gets him a frown. "You suspect Dain of plotting against me?"

"I suspect _everyone_ ," Dwalin answers testily. "That's what a guard is _for_. You can't actually be this stupid, can you?"

"A daring thing to say to your king," Thorin says, though he's grinning, so it isn't much of a threat. "Relax, will you? The boy is only temporary — he'll go back to Dain as soon as I can recruit some guards of my own. Someone I can trust."

That lands like a blow, so hard that Dwalin actually feels himself flinch. "That's it, then," he says, and it's as if he's hearing his own voice from a distance. "Someone you can trust. And what am I? Trustworthy enough to take to bed, and nothing more?"

There's a long, ringing silence; he doesn't dare look up to meet Thorin's eyes, too certain that all he'll find there is contempt.

Then Thorin speaks at last, honest confusion in his voice as he asks, "Do you think so little of my promises? Do you think I would name you consort, and swear to keep you by my side, if I meant nothing more by it than a few nights' sport? There is no one I trust more."

Dwalin stares at him, incredulous. "And you would push your most trusted guard off to the treasury? Do you value your gold above your life?"

" _No_ ," Thorin says at once, his shoulders stiffening as if to conceal a shudder. "No. That was... that madness has passed from me."

"Why, then?" Dwalin demands. "If you want me at your side—"

"I won't risk you," Thorin cuts him off, and then looks slightly horrified, as if he hadn't quite meant to say it.

Dwalin stares. "Risk _me_ ," he says after a moment. "Risk — you _complete idiot_. I've watched your back for years, I've gone into battle at your side, and _now_ you're worried about the risk?"

"Things will be different now," Thorin says, and actually reaches out to take his hand, gives him an alarmingly earnest look. "You must understand — I had no power in Ered Luin, not compared to this. Now there will be those with real cause to hate me, to strike at me and at those who protect me. I will not be the kind of king who is loved by all. I will make enemies — I _have_ made enemies, already—"

"And you would have me abandon you to them? You would leave me to fear for your safety, and bar me from being there to ensure it?" Dwalin shakes his head, though he doesn't let go of Thorin's hands. "I think not. My king, I accept the position of _shomakh-rûm_ , and nothing less."

"I haven't offered it to you."

Dwalin shrugs.

Thorin glares at him. "And I don't intend to offer it to you. You will guard my treasury and let me choose my own bodyguards, and that is an _order_ , Dwalin, an order from your king."

"It's one I won't follow, then," he answers. "I won't follow stupid orders, and I won't follow orders that would bring you harm."

"Dwalin—"

"My king," Dwalin says again, and then dares, "my _hôfukel_. Do not deny me this."

Thorin holds out a moment longer, glaring up at him; then he sighs and lets go of Dwalin's hands, leans into him instead, letting his forehead rest against the broad curve of Dwalin's shoulder. "My friend," he says in a low voice, "and my _âzyungâl_ , I name you _shomakh-rûm_ , and I beg you to take no needless risks in your duties."

"I am always _very_ careful," Dwalin says, contriving to sound hurt, and is pleased when Thorin snorts.

"Oh, yes," he says, "you're known for it. Which explains this scar here—" one hand slips under the hem of Dwalin's shirt, tracing the rough line of a years-old sword-cut over his hip— "and this one—" the hand creeps higher, finds the smaller puckered mark left by an arrow— "and that fresh one on your arm, I suppose—"

Dwalin leans down and kisses him deeply, as it seems to be the only way to shut him up. "You honor me, my king," he says, when at last they break apart, "and I accept."

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
>  _Shomakhel_ : guard of all guards  
>  _Shumûkh-ghivashîn_ : treasury guards (guards of the treasure-place)  
>  _Shomakh-rûm_ : bodyguard (guard of the back)  
>  _Hôfukel_ : joy of all joys  
>  _Âzyungâl_ : lover


End file.
